


The Field of Freedom

by alina_owo



Series: Original Stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Flowers, Gen, Language of Flowers, lots of pronoun use, might be confusing POV, no names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26715775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alina_owo/pseuds/alina_owo
Summary: Within a field of alstroemerias, there lies a spot in the shape of a human, where amaryllis have survived for centuries.There is only one man who knows the truth, for he is not truly a man no more.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Series: Original Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944256





	1. The Field

Within a field of alstroemerias, there lies a spot in the shape of a human, where amaryllis have survived for centuries. 

I remember having asked those in my hometown, those who have lived for the length of their long lives about the field. 

They confessed that that spot has never withered or died, never during their lives or their parents’ lives, or even their grandparents’ lives. 

My own eyes had seen the alstroemerias die before, when wintertime came and froze the land, and yet they came back, inexplicable fields of flowers that spot the world in colorful landscapes. 

There are rumors that jump from person to person, from elders to adults to children, passed down from generations, questioning the origins of the flora. 

Talk of mythical creatures, unicorns that made the land plentiful and beautiful, of gods that came down to bless the land after the demons had ravaged the world, skeptics that believe it is simply a scientific phenomenon. 

And yet, there is one that I heard from a man, one that I had never heard before. 

To this day, years later, I hesitate to call it simply a rumor. 

I had seen him sitting in the field, close to where the spot lay, a silhouette in the departing sun. I was but a child, staying out later than I should have, wanting to see the amaryllis glow unnaturally in the moonlight like I had seen many nights before. 

Despite whatever dangers that I had been warned about before, I had approached the man, who sat passively and hunched over, a mask that covered his entire face. I could feel from his presence that he was not here to harm, and that he would not harm me. 

When I had approached him, he inclined his head to look in my direction, but did not move either his body or his hand, which had rested on the amaryllis, where the heart of a human would be. 

I had asked him why he was out in the field, and he asked the same question, but it was not mean. It was quiet, sounding as though he wanted it to be humorful, but lacking the humor that he wanted. 

He said that he wanted to see the field, the glowing amaryllis and the alstroemerias that spanned on for what seemed like infinite. 

The sky had grown dark by the time I sat down next to him, watching the amaryllis glow, beautiful and mysterious, casting the light of red, pink, yellow, and pink onto the adjacent alstroemerias, flowers that did not glow, but still held onto the life they had during the day. 

I questioned if he knew how the flowers came to grow into existence, and he stared up at the stars, quiet and patient, and I copied him. It was only a moment before he spoke. 

Quiet, reserved, he spoke of the tragic death of a woman. Stuck, jailed within a dying field and destroyed land, wanting freedom from the moment she was born. 

Then, a man came, not to save her, but to kill her. The woman retaliated, doing her best to fight the man and kill him in return. She failed, and died upon the spot where the amaryllis now lay. 

The last conversation she had with the man was when she laid, dying and bleeding onto the cracked earth, and those words were to be remembered only between that man and woman. 

I had wondered if that was true, for the wind had rustled the trees and whispered into my ears, and yet when it stopped I continued to hear the sounds of voices, of regret and sadness. 

Within me, I wondered if the man had regretted what he had done, and how the woman had felt when she realized that she would never be free. 

But when I had turned to the man that talked with such reservations, he was gone. The only thing that remained in his spot was his mask, shaped like a fox but painted with flowers. 

Alstroemerias, I had realized, looking at it surrounded by the flora. 

And when I had looked at the amaryllis, glowing even brighter than before, bathing the land with its beauty, I saw something where the man had placed his hand before. 

The handle of a sword, sticking out of the earth, and growing out of the top, a single white amaryllis.


	2. Of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory; a dying field, cracked earth, and a single soul in solitude.
> 
> Freedom has many different meanings. I will help you find one of them.

I remember standing in the middle of a dying field, surrounded by cracked earth and destroyed land, parallel to a woman that had been confined to the field for centuries.

The protective barrier around the demon had stopped her from leaving the disorderly land that she had pummeled, but the people could not kill her and so she was left in solidarity and loneliness. 

Through my mask, I could see eyes filled with a hesitant hope, framed by black hair, matted, and as dirty as the ground that she stood upon. Eyes that glowed a red-pink-yellow mix, pink speckling her dark purple skin and clothes hanging off of her that tore where people had tried to kill her.

I had known that she did not recognize me as human, for I am not mortal, and she knew that I was not a demon, yet she still looked at me with hope and _want_.

The handle of my sword dug into the palm of my hand, if only to distract myself from the pain in my heart.

There was no sound, only silence that permeated the inside of the barrier, and yet the way her face crumbled down to the earth said more than a thousand words could. The pain of my handle, no matter how hard it dug into my flesh, could not convince me to ignore the tug of my heart.

I had drawn my sword, watching those eyes that once looked soulful follow the metal, seeing the way her pupils had shrunk as the moon glinted off of the sharpened blade.

She roared, hoarse and broken as she darted towards me, blunt claws swiping at me with tired fury and exhausted anger. I wondered if she knew that she was the last of her kind to live on this planet, isolated and lonely for centuries. 

Even if she left her jail, her isolation, she would continue to be lonely for the rest of her time.

The sword stayed within my hand, pointed towards the ground as I dodged the lunges made by the woman. Rage that had once burned bright now dwindled, leaving her attempted strikes to grow more feeble and weak, tired and weary from everything. 

Chest tight and heavy, my arm moved faster than she could, and I stood with my head adjacent to hers as I watched the woman’s blood drip off my blade, white liquid that finally had its first glimpse of the moon.

Silently, not even a chirp from crickets or a whisper from the woman, my body stepped back as my blade left her body with the same speed it had pierced her heart. From beneath my feet shot out dozens of flowers, amaryllis that sprouted to catch the fallen woman.

Only the soft thud of the body was heard within the prison, crowded flora of reds, pinks, and yellows catching her descent, growing against the hard soil and wasteland that was the barren field. 

More flowers sprung beneath my feet, alstroemerias curled and spread, filling the land with color, softening the impact of my knees hitting the ground as I accompanied the woman who knew she had nothing left to lose, stuck in solitude with nobody that cared.

The woman’s body slowly started to fade away, glowing under the moonlight befitting of an angel, looking up at the stars and the moon that sparkled, dying light that faded away sooner or later. Her hand was still warm when I placed mine upon it.

Whispered, silent words only for the one that laid in the deathbed of amaryllis, I spoke.

“Humans have enslaved you, drinking greedily from your imprisonment while you thirsted for just a drop of freedom. Please, be free from your chains, and return home with your family.” 

She gazed up at me, eyes shining with tears as she continued to disappear, eyes glued on the tears that dripped onto the alstroemerias from behind my mask. Blood dripped off the dirtied blade of my sword, rolling onto soft petals and into the soft soil hidden underneath. 

Her hand, covered in shining, white blood came to rest upon the handle of my blade; beneath her fingertips grew a stem, unfurling into an amaryllis, color as pure as her blood as it brushed against her cracked knuckles. 

A smile, and then nothing more, only whispers of regret and a single white amaryllis left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you know that I kinda trailed off at the end; ran out of brain power but wanted to finish it off. 
> 
> Please tell me what warnings I should use! Sometimes it'd hard to tell whether I need to use certain tags or warnings that apply to my works.


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